Not Coming Back
by Aleanbh
Summary: Following 6x07, Lisbon comes to terms with the events of the day in the most unlikely of ways, and realises the importance of something she never has before.


_**AN:**__ Picks up from where we left off in 6x07. It's the longest fic I've ever done, to be honest I had a few ideas of follow ups I wanted to do, so I just merged them for one long piece. I hope you like it, please review if you do! Also, I've never done this before either, but the title comes from a song by Lisa Hannigan called 'Home', it's very beautiful, and I definitely recommend that you listen to it, if not for this fic, then simply for the song's beauty._

* * *

_**Home, so far from home,**_

_**So far to go, and we've only just begun.**_

_**Hold on, there's nothing to pack,**_

_**We know we're not coming back.**_

_-Home, Lisa Hannigan._

* * *

When Lisbon returns to the almost wholly emptied bullpen, Abbott approaches her.

"Agent Lisbon," he says. "A word?"

Lisbon nods and follows him to the window. The window Jane had once smashed with a stolen diamond. Lisbon blinks her gaze away from the window and turns her head, but that just leaves her faced with more memories of Jane, and the remains of his beautiful blue teacup, scattered on the floor. Infuriatingly, the sight of its ruin makes her want to cry, which is stupid, because it's just a teacup. And yet she can't help but feel that it's appropriate. At least there's no doubt: she's wholly satisfied now, no doubt can remain: the CBI, her whole career, is as smashed as the precious teacup lying in bits on the floor.

"Agent Lisbon," Abbott says again.

She tears her gaze away from where her floor has been powdered blue, and looks up at his imposing presence.

"I'm going to speak frankly, Agent. The CBI, the FBI, the judiciary system: all crime enforcement in California, right down to Local PD, needs to be flushed out. The system is dirty. Corruption, criminals, a lot of them worse than those we apprehend, infiltrating the whole organisation: this cannot, and will not, be allowed to continue. Your team's revealing of the so-called 'Tyger, Tyger' group, and the whole Blake Alliance has revealed what appears to be the biggest conspiracy in California's history. It would appear that nobody can be trusted – like I said, it's the reason someone like me was drafted in from across the country. I must tell you agent, my gut instinct is to trust you and your team, the very team that has lifted the curtain on the Blake conspiracy."

Lisbon gives a small smile, a small pride for her team showing. Abbott ignores this sentimentality and looks at her, sternly, almost confused at her smile, but then continues-

"Don't get me wrong, Agent, I believe any of your agents capable of cheating the system, I only fail to understand what benefit the conspirers would gain from bringing themselves into public knowledge. And yet, Agent, from what I've read up on about yourself and Mr Jane's history of crime solving, I do believe you're on the right side: Jane has his own reasons to be against Red John, and I don't believe you capable of fooling him, of all people. If you were dirty, I'm sure he'd have found you out years ago."

Lisbon raises her eyebrows.

"I realise I'm giving you mixed signals here, and I apologise for that. At the end of the day, Agent, what I'm saying is that I do ultimately trust you and your judgement. However, I cannot be seen to be giving you the benefit of my belief, everything – everything – has to be by the book and scrutinised meticulously. That said, considering your position as agent in charge, I do believe I owe you respect and common courtesy."

"Thank you, Agent Abbott," Lisbon says.

"I've instructed my people to leave your office alone for the time being. You may collect any personal items you wish, providing you agree to their being checked and possibly examined before you leave here today with them. Thank you, Agent Lisbon. I'll be in touch."

Lisbon raises her head and nods. She watches Abbott walk out past the broken tea cup, and she cringes at the gritty sound as some of the remnants are crushed underfoot. She turns and stands, resting her back against the window. She's not sure how long she stands there, watching the FBI dismantle her whole working life. And then she's aware of a presence, and in a moment Cho is beside her. He rests against the window too, and she's suddenly so very glad he's there at all. He doesn't say anything for a long time, and it's so comfortable, so natural between them that save for the people they don't know emptying the bullpen of everything that ever mattered, this could almost be normal.

After a long while, she drops her head low, and bumps it off his shoulder affectionately. The action is done before she even realises it. It's so silly of her, and so out of character, but this has been a very strange day. She straightens her head and peeks up at Cho. The expression she sees him giving her makes her chuckle softly. It's all she can do not to give in and break down and cry, so she chooses to laugh instead. It's a sad laugh.

"Oh, Cho," she says. "What the hell has this come to?"

Cho shrugs and shakes his head, looking right back at her. "What are we going to do, Boss?"

This time she shrugs. "I have no idea," she says. "I'm not even your boss anymore. You're not even my agent. It's all gone to hell."

"You're wrong, Lisbon," Cho says. He's looking at her with a very hard look in his eyes. "I'll always be your agent. So will Rigsby, and Van Pelt. We all will." He pauses. "Even Jane. We're all yours. Nothing the FBI, nothing anyone says can change that."

Tears are welling up in her eyes, but this doesn't feel real. They don't say things like this, they never go to these places in everyday conversations. But today is not an ordinary day. Today has felt like a dream. She wishes she could wake up.

"I wish you'd had the chance to lead your own team here," she says.

He shrugs. "Never wanted to."

He smirks at the scepticism in the look she gives him. "Maybe one day," he says. "I liked being on our team too much. Got too comfortable, maybe. No regrets, though."

"Hey," she says. "You will get the chance to lead. Not here, but somewhere else. Someplace else, you're going to make a fine lead agent." She is angry for him. Perhaps she'd been holding him on too long, but he'd wanted to stay, too. What cause would they have had to ever imagine this could all be torn, ripped, pulled away from them as this? They all deserved more than this.

"Maybe," he says. "Who'd hire any of us now? Any state agent of California is going to have a tough time getting a job for the next few years at least."

A realisation dawns on her. "I hadn't thought of that," she says.

He nods.

She's quiet for a moment. She looks at him, her voice hushed and determined. "That just means we have to finish this ourselves, once and for all. Get our lives back together.." she trails off. He's looking at her intently. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Sounds like a plan, that's all." He looks at her. "We're going to be fine, Boss," he says.

Again the strangeness of the day overcomes her for a second, and for a moment, she grasps his hand. "I know."

She pushes herself up and goes to the kitchenette. She opens the cupboard and takes out the long-handled sweeping brush and dustpan, and comes back to the bullpen. Cho has disappeared off somewhere, and she's glad; she's always gotten the impression he disapproves of just how fond she has become of Jane. She tries to sweep up the pieces of the teacup, and as the larger pieces lift up and away, the smaller pieces insist on sticking to the ground. Their grit glitters stubbornly as her attempts to collect their dust become more and more desperate. She ignores the looks she's getting from one of Abbott's men, and rests the brush against the wall. She holds her head high as she carries the full dustpan with her towards her office.

Lisbon steps over the threshold of her office and closes the door behind her. She sees gladly that the blinds are already closed. Abbott is accommodating her but she doesn't want to push it. She gingerly trusts him, too, and she knows the difficult and enormity of the job that lies before him.

Lisbon leans against her office door and looks around. She still can't quite believe this is happening. So much has happened within these four walls, but she can't let herself think about that just yet. For just a moment, she closes her eyes, and opens them again. With the blinds closed, and her here with everything as it was this morning, she is in her haven. She can pretend, for just the littlest of whiles, that everything isn't being torn down outside her office doors, that everything is as it always was.

But that's not true, and she has to live with it. She goes to her desk and takes a large, strong brown envelope, and carefully slides the contents of the dustpan into it. She folds over the top of it, and places it back on her desk.

She sits at the desk – no longer hers, not _really_, and thinks about what she wants to take with her. To her right, there's a stack of folders and forms that were so important yesterday. They don't seem to matter anymore. To her left, a computer filled with information that won't help her out of this mess. Two pens. A highlighter. A mug of coffee from Jane she'd drank hours ago. A scattering of paper clips and post-its. Her diary and address book she'll take. There may be things there that could prove useful. She sees an empty box of printer paper across the room and takes it to her desk. She stands to the side of her desk and begins to pack things away. As she reaches for her diary and places it in the bottom of the box, she is reminded with a jolt of when she stood where she stands now, unpacking back into her office after the McTeer fiasco. It's the opposite now. This day is making her sentimental.

And then she's remembering everything in a sudden rush of memories. She's worked for the CBI for ten years, and they're all making themselves remembered in this moment. All of the too many nights spent asleep on one sofa and then another, too many hours flitted away with Jane's silly games. Scolding Rigsby and Van Pelt's relationship, being coerced into letting them continue unabashed. Jane walking in on her dressed in a bridesmaid dress she never wore again. Being welcomed into the office by Minelli on her promotion, finally letting the tears fall following their final goodbye. Toasting Bosco's memory with Jane, throwing pencils at him from behind her desk. She remembers him waking her late one night; she'd fallen asleep and he'd come across her during one of his midnight strolls through the building. He'd drove her home then, and never mentioned it again. She'd liked that. His last, heartbreaking confession of love, that had smashed her heart, like he'd smashed the window, like the teacup had been smashed. He had a knack for smashing things and leaving someone else to do the clearing up. And still, the strongest memory she had in this office, was simply hours and hours and months and years spent being happier than she'd ever been.

Lisbon reminds herself of the task at hand. It will be hell if she thinks about what she is doing too much. She opens each of the drawers of her desk. They're mostly files and folders of policies and regulations. She hesitates before opening the last one, it's always been her personal one; her chaotic haven of mess amongst the surrounding order. Jane would have had a field day if he had to have known of its existence. Lisbon rolls the drawer open and lifts it out, placing it up on the desk in front of her. There's a large bar of chocolate sitting on top, she's always appreciated its presence on a long day. She throws it in to her cardboard box. She'll need that on the way home. She picks through the overstuffed drawer. A birthday card from Rigsby's Ben, which consisted of Rigsby's handwriting and a few splodges of green paint. She'd loved it all the same. A handwritten note from Grace inviting her to lunch. Lisbon had learned to be sentimental, and she didn't see it as a fault, providing she kept it to herself, hid it away in bottom drawers, and didn't let on at all. There's Cho's name written in Jane's handwriting, left over from their Cris Cringle the previous Christmas. There's years of memories here. There's even a copy of a photograph of them all at a fundraiser. That's one thing she could thank Brenda Shettrick for, despite everything. She knew that this photo would be finding a frame and pride of place in her living room in the near future.

At the very bottom of the drawer, her fingers graze a lump of paper. A paper frog, to be exact. She's lost count of how many sorrows she has smiled today, but this one counts as one more. She feels foolish, but she wants to take it home to treasure. She looks into her cardboard box, her whole life here condensed into it, and her heart swells with love for her team, and she knows how she will miss this place. She drops her elbows to table and holds her head in her hands, and stays there for a long while.

And then she composes and continues; packing, tidying, all the while hating the thoughts of this all being dismantled by the FBI. She keeps going, little by little, until she realises there is no more to do. The cardboard box is full, the table is cleared, and the chess set packed away. The couch is empty, as is the coat stand. There is nothing left she can pretend to pack away.

It's time to go.

She takes one last look around at where she's been the happiest, and closes the door behind her as she leaves, her hand pausing for a second as she reads her name on the door one last time. The envelope holding the broken teacup is in her hand, she had been delaying throwing it away as long as possible. There is nothing else to do now, and she walks to the kitchenette towards the bin. As she pushes the pedal down with her foot, she spies a flash of blue in the corner of her eye. Abbott has left Jane's abandoned saucer resting on the draining board of the sink. She holds the envelope over the bin, telling herself she's being foolish, but suddenly in a rush, she decides she doesn't care. She doesn't care what Abbott and his men think of her, when they look through her belongings. She's done with this place, and this place is done with her. She's not coming back. She takes the envelope back and sits it inside the box. Then she collects the saucer and does the same with it.

She can feel the eyes of Abbott and his men on her back. They make her feel like a criminal. She came in this morning as Boss, head of the unit, and now they're suspicious of some birthday cards and folded up paper in the box she's holding. How quickly things can change. Her years haven't been wasted, never wasted, and still, she wonders what she will be able to do, what has been left fit for her.

She walks up to Abbott and hands him the box. He beckons to one of his men, and together they go through its contents, looking at all these memories she wishes she could keep fiercely private. She sees the men raise their eyebrows at the sentimental things she has chosen to keep. She resolves herself not to blush, not to give them the satisfaction. She knows what they'll have heard about her: Agent Teresa Lisbon, and this is tearing down that description. What does she care, they will never care about her, this whole place is gone, there is no need any more to worry about what anyone thinks. When he is done, Abbott places the box in her arms. She walks away before he can shake her hand, and leaves the CBI for one last time.

Later, Lisbon opens her front door with her key, her bag slung over her shoulder, and the cardboard box full in her arms, kept in place at times by her resting chin. She closes the door behind her and gently sets the box on the table beside her. The home unit of her portable phone is beeping red, signalling a recorded message. She gently drops her bag to the ground and leans over the box to press the button and hear the message.

Her face falls and her heart swells with fondness and love as she hears the voice on the other side.

"Lisbon- Teresa. Your old boss here; it's- it's Virgil-"

"Minelli", she whispers, and places her palm on the phone table to support her weight.

"I, uh, I heard what's going on up there with you all, and I – I just wanted to say that if you need anything, you know where I am. I was watching the press conference today; I saw you both, and – and I gotta say, I'm very proud, Teresa. You've done a hell of a job. I can't quite believe it myself, though some things are starting to make sense like they never did before. I know it's been a while, I know I should have said it more often back then, but I wanted you to know that I'm thinking of you and wishing you the best. You've done me proud, Lisbon; you're one of the damn finest I ever worked with. "

A pause.

"Alright, Teresa," his voice says. "Take care. Keep in touch."

The answering machine beeps and Lisbon raises her left hand to wipe her tears away. That was exactly what she needed to hear. She thinks she must finally get it now. The pride and concern she feels for her team. Minelli feels this , still, for her. The respect and dedication Cho is prepared to give her, that's how she was with Minelli.

Minelli gave her her start in the CBI – she owes everything, whatever little is left of that, she thinks with a sad smile. He gave her everything, and she gave her agents everything. Now more than ever she feels close to them, has a complete and full understanding of them. Too late, she thinks. The day they disband, she has a true realisation of their relationship. Her team, her poor team. They're not over. The CBI was where they worked, who they worked for, but they're still a single unit, and they're still a team. They're not of the CBI anymore, but they're of themselves and of each other. She feels immensely proud of them, and remembers the effect Minelli's rare praise had on her, the confidence it gave her, the help it was to know she had his support. Inspired, she takes her phone from her pocket and writes a short text. _We'll get through this if we stick together. I've been, and I am still, so very proud to call you my team. I'll be in touch. Teresa._

Late that evening, she thinks again of Jane's teacup's gritty dust glittering, stuck fast to the ground. She can try to put the teacup back together again, but it won't be the same without all of it. It's the same with her team, she realises. Now that they've been disbanded, it will be different. She imagines they will all remain loyal to both her and each other, but unless they remain united, there's no hope of putting them back together. There will be gaps in their structure, as with the teacup now. Putting the pieces of a teacup back together is hard, but harder still will be getting people back together after something like this. She's always been a fixer; she's liked fixing things, and fixing people. She hopes she can fix this. If she can manage to present that teacup as one solid piece, after jigsawing the pieces back together, she wonders what she'd do with it. Would she present it proudly to him? Would he want it? Would it remind him of his happy years with them in the CBI, or like so many things in his life, would it just be a cruel reminder of everything that has been lost? And the team, would he want them back if they, like the teacup, are only a shadow of their former CBI selves? A teacup glued together will not be for purpose. She hopes a team such as theirs glued back together will.

She will live in hope.


End file.
